Read The Fine Print, Yeah
by Alory Shannon
Summary: Deidara learns that you shouldn't sign a contract before reading all the fine print. Apparently no one ever taught him to look underneath the underneath.   Slightly AU due to chps 359 & 360.


Sometimes, Deidara thought, being an artist really sucked.

He stared mournfully down into the cup of lukewarm green tea that had just been placed before him, and almost, _almost _wished that he'd become a bricklayer or a stonemason, like his mother had wanted. At least then he would've been able to afford to order something other than tea off this place's menu…though actually, if he'd been a stonemason, he probably wouldn't've left Iwagakure at all (unless he actually _was_ crazy like everyone said and had started building houses specifically designed to explode or something.)

As Deidara grimaced and took a sip of his tea, a waitress barked some half-audible reprimand at a cluster of grimy-looking children that had been gathered around the tea shop's counter, taking a swipe at couple of the taller ones with her serving tray. The children turned and darted away like a school of fish, threading their way through the tables, including his own, laughing and chattering about some sort of game as they dashed past him; the last one, a pug-nosed boy, bumped him hard as he passed.

Deidara's hand shot out reflexively, closing around the kid's wrist and jerking him back around. With a small sigh, the blonde artist set down his tea and turned his attention to the boy.

"Give it back, brat," he snapped as the boy scowled a poor approximation of bewilderment. "And don't even _try_ to deny that you nicked my wallet, yeah."

"I don't—" The kid stopped short when the mouth on the hand that grasped his wrist set teeth to skin.

Deidara raised an eyebrow and tightened his grip a little more.

"Cheapskate," the boy, who must've been at least twelve, muttered sullenly, dropping the wallet into Deidara's waiting hand.

"You can't go through life expecting handouts, kid," the nukenin said pleasantly, twisting the boy's arm just enough to receive an ill-concealed grimace of discomfort. "I don't have money to waste on incompetent pickpockets, but I_ will_ give you this…just to prove how _generous _I am, yeah."

The pug-nosed boy stared at the proffered clay bird with open skepticism before snatching it and jerking free of Deidara's grip.

"Thanks for nothing, asshole," the boy spat, shoving the sculpture into his pocket and dashing off to catch up with his fellows.

The former Rock nin rolled his eyes and made a simple seal with his hands. _It's almost a shame to waste art on someone like that, yeah_, he thought to himself, then shrugged. Oh well.

"_Katsu!"_

Superheated air and a billow of smoke rushed around him, and the rest of the tea house's occupants shrieked as tables splintered and glasses shattered; Deidara sat and calmly drank his tea. When the smoke had cleared somewhat, he turned a casual, careless glance over his shoulder to survey the damage and snorted.

Kids these days. Leaving messes behind everywhere they went, including the afterlife.

"Alright, who's responsible for this?" A square-jawed, red-faced man, most likely the owner judging by the murderous look in his eyes, emerged from the door leading back into the kitchens; the fact that he had a blood-smeared butcher's knife still clenched in one meaty hand did not go unnoticed by the blonde nukenin.

Aaaand that would be his cue to leave.

…Except for the fact that he wasn't quite done with his tea. It wasn't_ good_ tea by any means, but he'd paid for it, and he'd finish it, dammit. A quick scan of the room yielded just what he was looking for: a heavily shadowed booth in the far back corner, a spot well away from where the action had taken place. It wasn't that far, either…

Casually, Deidara slipped out of his chair and darted for the booth. The position couldn't've been better--well away from the windows, and right next to the rear exit and the bathrooms--and, if things got really bad, he could always blast his way out through the back wall.

It was absolutely perfect, he thought as he plunked his cup down and slid into the booth.

It was also already occupied.

"Ah," he said, stiffening as the infrared detector on his scope lit up a brilliant vermilion. "Sorry, didn't realise anyone was sitting here, yeah…" he muttered, cutting his eyes to the side and scanning the room for another dark corner to conceal himself in; unfortunately, there weren't any.

"Quite alright," a smooth voice answered in response. "I'm not waiting for anyone in particular, so you're more than welcome to the seat."

Deidara glanced back across the room at the hulking tea shop owner, who was currently glowering at every visible patron in the room. He could blow that guy up too, of course, no problem, but then there would be witnesses, which would require _more_ explosions, which would doubtless draw the attention of whatever authorities were in charge of this backwater little scumhole of a town; Deidara didn't feel like tangling with authorities again, not today, so he decided to stay put for the time being.

"…Thanks, yeah."

The Iwa nukenin shifted uncomfortably in the silence that filled the next few minutes, unable to keep his eyes from flicking upwards to probe the deep shadows that surrounded the booth's original occupant; unfortunately, said shadows were deep enough that the infrared filter was the only one that could really get a reading, though maybe if he adjusted the scope's focus a bit—

"That was really evil, you know," the smooth voice cut in on his thoughts, jerking him back to the present.

"What was?" the blonde replied just a little too quickly, unable to hide a flicker of surprise at the shadowed stranger's calm, conversational tone.

"Blowing up that kid." It was a simple statement, not at all an accusation, startlingly enough.

Deidara waved it off, mouth twisting with disdain. "Feh. He deserved it. The little bastard picked my pocket--did a real shitty job of it, too, yeah. Felt more like he was trying to feel me up."

"But you _do_ agree that blowing him up was evil."

For moment Deidara stared hard at the vaguely outlined figure, mildly incredulous at the current topic of this little exchange. What _was_ this guy, some sort of moral absolutist?_ If he starts preaching at me, I'm blowing him up on principle, yeah. _"Sure," he grunted indifferently, knocking back the rest of his cup of tea and wondering if he'd waited long enough for a casual exit out the back door to go unnoticed. "Whatever, yeah."

"…You know what this means, don't you?"

A frown instantly clouded the blonde artist's face, and he glared across the table at the dimly lit man with obvious suspicion. He might have been short a marble or two, but he was still considered a genius as well as an excellent shinobi, and excellent shinobi didn't tend to miss many details, particularly not when they were as obvious as the tonal change this stranger's voice had just gone through.

But curiosity was also a part of his cussedly bipolar nature, so instead of listening to the little voice in the back of his head that was telling him to get up and walk away from this conversation _right now,_ he leaned forward, resting an elbow on the table, and said with a little smirk, "No, actually I don't, yeah. What does it mean?"

"It means that you're evil."

"Oh really?" Deidara snorted. "Thanks, I hadn't noticed. I was wondering why those idiots in my home village kicked me out. And here I thought it was because I left my lights on all the time and forgot to pay the water bill."

"And since you're evil…" the stranger went on, unperturbed by the obvious sarcasm, "…you know what _that_ means?"

The former Iwa nin was rapidly losing interest in this conversation. He glanced back over his shoulder, watching closely as one of the waitresses bent to pick up the pieces of someone's shattered sake cup, the hem of her tightly-fitted skirt slipping upwards most intriguingly…

"It means, of course, that you're going to have to try to take over the world."

That snapped the blonde's head back around.

"_What?"_

"You've freely admitted to being evil, which makes you a villain," the stranger said matter-of-factly, "which in turn means you're either trying to kill the hero of the story—"

"Hey, I don't have anything against anyone, _yeah—"_

"—Or you're trying to take over the world."

Deidara blinked several times rapidly. "What? But I don't—I'm not—I just—"

"Well then," The Man In The Shadows pushed onwards, ignoring the Rock nin's sputtered attempts at denial, "it's very fortunate that you ran into me."

"But—but—"

"You see, I just so happen to be the leader of an organisation with world domination as its ultimate goal—"

"But I—I don't—"

"—And I think that_ you_ would be a marvelous addition to the ranks."

Abruptly the blonde artist shut up, choosing instead to stare at the other man with incredulity.

"You're…offering me a job, yeah?" he finally managed, though none of the skepticism left his expression.

"Of course. We antagonists have to stick together, you know, or else the protagonists get their happy endings too quickly, and that doesn't make for a very satisfying story, now, does it."

Deidara blinked, temporarily nonplussed. "Er. I guess not. But—"

"Also, it's so_ very_ difficult to take over the world by oneself," The Man In The Shadows said, his voice taking on a dramatically weary tone. "The amount of planning alone is daunting, but without competent accomplices or a powerful supporting organisation, the task is simply _overwhelming._ It would take a _lifetime_ of preparation, and even then the world itself is so large that to take on the task alone would be—

"But I don't WANT to take over the world!" Deidara burst out, slamming a fist against the table for emphasis. "I just want to make art, yeah!"

The stranger coughed lightly and gestured towards the destruction that Deidara's clay bird had caused earlier. "And that's what you call making art?"

One blue eye narrowed. "You got a problem with that?"

"Oh, quite the contrary," the stranger chuckled. "The desire and ability to cause totally indiscriminative destruction is a most valuable and excellent trait for a villain to have--it's _marvelous,_ it makes the protagonists _seethe_--and it's also a _great_ first step on the path towards world domination and a reign of terror."

"But I TOLD you, I don't—_eyargh!"_ Deidara growled and threw up his hands in defeat, then abruptly stood, intent on making good his escape. "This is a _total _waste of my time, yeah—"

"We'll pay you."

That stopped him mid-stride. Slowly he turned to look back at The Man In The Shadows.

"Quite handsomely, too," the stranger added offhandedly.

Deidara gave the indistinct figure an arch look. "You're offering to pay me to blow things up?"

There was a flicker of movement that the infrared filter on his scope showed to be a nod.

He grinned. "Where do I sign up?"

"Excellent." The sound of rustling paper filled the air as Deidara slid back into the booth, trying without much success to pay attention to the Man In The Shadows' renewed babble. "I think you'll fit right in with the rest of the group. We've had a recent opening, you know, and Sasori's been giving me hell about making him endure his ex-partner's unusual behaviour, so I think I'll pair you up with him. He's an artist, too, so the two of you should get along splendidly…"

A rather hefty stack of papers was dropped in front of him, and two surprising normal-looking hands emerged from the shadows, one flipping through the papers, the other offering him an expensive-looking pen; the right hand had a rather odd-looking ring encircling its thumb, but was otherwise unadorned. "Alright, just sign here, here, here, and--oh no, sorry, that one you have to sign in blood, but don't worry, you can do that later--and list some of your stats in these boxes—"

The blonde paused in the middle of taking apart the pen and rigging it to spray ink on whoever used it next to look up at his soon-to-be new employer. "My stats? What for?"

"The fans like that sort of thing."

"Mm," Deidara grunted noncommittally, messily scrawling his signature across the indicated lines with the halfway-dismantled pen and ignoring the stats boxes completely. "There you go, yeah. Is that all?"

The Man In The Shadows glanced down at the pages. "Are you sure you don't want to fill in any of these stats?"

Deidara, who was busily screwing the pen back together, didn't even glance up. "What for? It's not important."

"You didn't even indicate your gender."

The blonde snorted, rolling his eyes and tossing the pen down in front of the other man. "Like _that'll_ be a problem, yeah."

"Alright then, here's your ring. Wear it on your right index finger."

"Ring?" the nukenin said, staring with mild surprise at the bit of jewelry being held out to him. Accepting it, he glanced it over quickly, noting its similarity to the ring his new employer had been wearing, as well as the kanji marking it (_sei,_ "blue") before sliding it onto the first finger of his right hand. "Hey, it fits." He turned it this way and that, tilting his head a bit to look at it from an angle. "It's a nice shade of blue, yeah, but the design's not very artistic. Do I have to wear it?"

"Yes," The Man In The Shadows said firmly. "It's very important, so don't lose it. Everyone in the organisation has one, which brings me to the topic of uniforms. The concept designs are still being worked on, but we have the basic idea figured out, and the prototypes should be finished within the month. You'll be expected to wear your uniform whenever you're out on any missions, of course. It's sort of a publicity thing, a way to get our name out there and inspire fear in the hearts of our enemies at the mere sight of our organisation's symbol—"

"So what is it, yeah?" Deidara interrupted, looking up from studying his ring (and trying to make it reflect in his new boss's eyes). "Something ferocious, yeah? Like or tiger or a DRAGON or a—"

"Clouds."

The nukenin gave his head a little shake as if to clear it, then let out a short laugh. "I'm sorry, I think I misheard you, because I thought you just said _clouds—"_

"I did," The Man In The Shadows said, an obvious chill in his voice. "It works into the name of the organisation. It'll look good, trust me."

Deidara scowled faintly, but there really wasn't anything he could do about it at the moment; he'd have to make sure to give the designers or whoever eventually made the uniforms some pointers later on. "…Fine. So who the hell are _you,_ anyway, yeah?"

The dim figure across from him straightened, clearing its throat self-importantly. "You're to call me Leader-sama, that's all you need to know about my name for now. It keeps an air of secrecy around things, which is very important considering the stereotypical villain role I'm going to be fulfilling. I'm basically an Evil Overlord, but I'm trying to work the whole 'Man of Mystery' angle too, you see, so if you've managed to get a clear shot of my face with that camera of yours, I'll have to ask you not to spread that around."

He hadn't, but this 'Leader-sama' didn't have to know that. "Don't worry about me, yeah."

"Thank you, I appreciate that. I'd like to keep the whole lurking-in-the-shadows bit going for as long as possible. Undefined evil is just so much more ominous, you know..."

"Uh-huh, yeah, of course," Deidara said agreeably as the other man continued to discourse at length, though really he was only half paying attention, absorbed as he was in pouring pepper into the salt shaker. He was getting bored of this whole charade already; he hadn't realised that joining this organisation would mean sitting through lectures.

_Kami, I just hope he doesn't like to give pep talks, yeah…_

* * *

"…Which is what makes being a plot device all worthwhile," Leader-sama said at last, finishing off his ten-minute-long speech with a nod and a sigh of satisfaction. 

A short silence stretched between the two, during which Leader-sama sat and beamed benevolently across the table at his newest recruit (who of course couldn't see his expression), and Deidara picked at his cuticles.

"Ahem, yes," Leader-sama coughed after a moment. "Anyway, I suppose that's all for now, but we'll be in touch. We still have lots of details to negotiate, after all, such as your pay rate, your catch phrase, and how many chapters you'll be around before your inevitable demise."

The artist scoffed. "Catch phrase? _Tch,_ I don't need a--did you just say 'inevitable demise'?"

"Of course!" Leader-sama laughed—actually _laughed_—and even in the poor lighting, Deidara caught the gleam of a row of very white teeth. "We're _villains!_ We all have to kick it sometime!"

That was it. This guy was nuts. This guy was absolutely _nuts,_ and Deidara had had more than enough of him and his crazy talk about plot holes and the joys and dangers of monologuing.

He was going down, and in a big way.

The scope on the blonde nukenin's left eye automatically switched over to 'AUTOLOCK', framing the shadowy stranger with a pair of scarlet brackets. 'TARGET ACQUIRED' flashed across the bottom of the screen, followed by a flood of scrolling text listing ranges, trajectories, and angles, as well as possible directions the victim might select should they choose to attempt an escape. Beneath the table, one of the blonde's hands had already settled nonchalantly on the bag at his hip, when the brackets suddenly and inexplicably went green. 'INVALID TARGET: TARGET INACCESSABLE' read the legend flickering at the bottom of the screen.

Deidara barely resisted the urge to give the scope a good smack, regardless of the fact that it was permanently attached to his face. (He'd done it before when the thing was malfunctioning, and sometimes it had actually worked, though most of the time it wasn't worth the headache that that method of "repair" typically entailed; he would've been more than willing to put up with a headache this time, however, but smacking himself in the face wasn't exactly the stealthiest of moves, and the element of surprise was useful more often than not.)

Well, there went his masterful attack plan. Sure, he could still try to blow the guy up even without all the detailed information he usually worked with--it wasn't like it was particularly difficult to toss a clay sculpture at someone--but there was definitely something very weird going on here; a quick diagnostics check showed that everything was in perfect working condition, and that scope had never steered him wrong before. If it said that the guy who was seemingly sitting just a few feet away from him was "inaccessible," then the bastard _was_ goddamn inaccessible.

Fuck.

"Is there a problem, Deidara?" Leader-sama asked, the barest hint of a smirk in his tone.

"_Yes,_ there's a problem, _yeah!_ You didn't mention anything about certain death when you were trying to convince me to join up!" Deidara fumed, turning a vicious glare on the man sitting across from him.

"I didn't have to," Leader-sama said with nearly tangible smugness. "It's in the contract. Which perhaps you should've actually _read_ before signing." And with a deep, sinister laugh that echoed faintly off the surrounding walls in a manner most befitting of an Archetypal Anime Villain, Leader-sama vanished in a puff of smoke.

For a long moment Deidara just gaped at the vacant seat across from him (which, strangely enough, suddenly seemed a great deal less shadowed); then with a groan, he closed his eyes and slumped forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with quiet _thunk._

This was unreal. There must've been something in that tea, or maybe his scope really _was_ malfunctioning and the electrical pulses had addled his brain a bit. Yes, that had to be it, he decided, after all, criminal masterminds didn't just wander around at random, impulsively hiring new henchmen and cheerfully discussing things like plotlines or exposition blocks or their own inevitable defeat. This was all some whacked-out dream or hallucination, and when he woke up or came to or whatever, he'd either be sitting in the back of a seedy little tea shop in a seedy little village, or lying flat on his back in a dark alley. Or maybe this time he'd be locked up somewhere, who knew, but there was simply _no way_ that he'd just signed away his existence to become some sort of stereotypical crazy villain.

He'd just about convinced himself of this when he opened his eyes to find himself staring at the ring on the first finger of his right hand. He blinked slowly, once, twice, then closed his eyes again with another groan, suddenly fighting an overwhelming urge to beat his head against the table.

"Oh…shit, yeah."


End file.
